


A Royal Request

by HaMandCheezIts



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Back to the Future: The Game
Genre: 1985, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Arrested/Jail, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherly Angst, Bullying, Burger King Restaurant, Dating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Français | French, Friendship, Gen, High School, Implied Sexual Content, Junior High, Minor Injuries, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Prom, References to Drugs, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Rivalry, That's a whole lot of tags, Twin Pines Timeline, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts
Summary: Prom is coming up in a few weeks, and Marty expects Jennifer will automatically attend the dance with him - until he learns that he needs to "officially" ask his girlfriend to the event. He initially goes to his sister Linda for advice, but it ends up being Doc Brown who unexpectedly helps Marty understand the real basis of his and Jennifer's relationship.
Relationships: Dave McFly & Linda McFly & Marty McFly, Dave McFly & Marty McFly, Einstein the Dog & Marty McFly, Emmett "Doc" Brown & Einstein the Dog, Emmett "Doc" Brown & Marty McFly, George McFly & Lorraine Baines McFly & Marty McFly, George McFly/Lorraine Baines McFly, Linda McFly & Marty McFly, Marty McFly & Douglas J. Needles, Marty McFly & Original Character(s), Marty McFly/Jennifer Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	A Royal Request

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts out with and ends with the prom topic, but it also has a good deal of subplot (or just extra subject matter), which references Dave McFly’s shaky past, Linda McFly’s lack of self-worth, and Marty’s connection to them both. We also see how Marty handles (or doesn’t handle) his not-so-great home life. Plus there’s Doc and Einstein, because it is a _Back to the Future_ story, after all. 
> 
> I put this in the _Back to the Future: The Game_ fandom only because it inspired this story. Early on in the third episode of the TellTale game (“Citizen Brown”), Marty pulls a photograph out of his wallet that shows him and Jennifer in formal clothes. They are posed in front of a wicker backdrop; Jennifer is wearing a pink strapless dress reminiscent of Lorraine Baines’s Enchantment Under the Sea dress, and Marty is in a blue (?) tux. I imagined it had to be a prom photo, and decided to write a story about Marty asking Jennifer to prom. I figured it would be maybe 3,000 words long. 10,000-plus words later, I have finally finished this story. But it has kept me busy while I wait for my followed AO3 BTTF stories to be updated. The waiting is the hardest part! 
> 
> **Random Note:** I mention the McDonald’s McChicken sandwich in this story, and allude to the fact that it was a briefly-run menu item. Originally, when the McChicken was introduced in 1980, it did not do well. It was obviously reintroduced (more than once) as it is again present on the McDonald’s menu. 
> 
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly (or any of the McFly family members), Jennifer Parker, Gerald/Stanford Strickland, or Einstein the dog. I have created several original characters that are in this story. **Note:** I can't find a character tag for Stanford Strickland, so I chose Gerald Strickland (which is what the school disciplinarian is named in the novelization of the first movie).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.
> 
>  _Band-Aid_ is a trademark of Johnson & Johnson.

**Tuesday, April 9th, 1985**

**12:21 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

“But you know that there's a fever  
Oh, that you'll never find nowhere else  
Can't you feel it burnin', on and on

Oh Sherri, our prom  
Go with me, go with me,

Oh Sherri, our prom  
Go with me, go with me

The teenaged boy, who had a set of drumsticks in hand (with which he’d accompanied his singing), was enveloped in a hug by a squealing teenaged girl, who was surrounded by other squealing teenaged girls. Eventually the boy was able to detach himself from the hug, and grinning hugely, he strutted back to his friends, sitting at a table a couple yards away. 

“Done deal!” Isaac Donner crowed. “Sherri said yes!” 

The other members of The Pinheads (bass-player Paul Hardy, keyboardist Pete Grande, and lead guitar [and lead vocalist] Marty McFly) looked up silently at the drummer’s words. The silence was brief – soon all three burst into semi-amused congratulations, patting Isaac on the back and shaking his hand. Isaac plopped down on the bench with his friends, his grin almost blinding. “This almost beats not being able to perform at prom!”

The four juniors were sitting together in the cafeteria of Hill Valley High; the room was not only utilized for the school’s occupants’ noontime meals, but recently another function had been found for the lunchroom: the formation of male/female agreements re: an upcoming social engagement.

 _At least, that’s the way Doc would refer to it,_ Marty thought as he looked around the raucous, hectic room, able to viscerally feel the electric excitement. The “upcoming social engagement” was the junior prom, which would be taking place in a little over two weeks.

Paul and Pete spoke at the same time. “We’re not ready to perform for a big crowd yet,” Pete said, while Paul asked, “I thought you were gonna go with Jorie.”

Isaac answered Paul first. “Jorie Flynn? She's kind of cute and all, but Sherri’s – “ Here Isaac put his hands out and pantomimed the perfect female body, first “clutching” the breasts and then angling his hands down to a tiny waist and curvy hips. He grinned coyly, then turned to Pete. “And we’re never gonna be ready to perform for a big crowd if we never perform for a big crowd! All the little gigs we do are fine, but it’s time to head up to the big leagues. Right, McFly?”

Marty choked on his milk, then hurriedly put the carton back on his lunch tray. “Huh? What? Don’t bring me into this.”

“Oh, don’t be a wimp,” Isaac said, shoving at Marty. “I know you agree with me. You’re just worried about pissing anyone off. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you won’t stand up for yourself, just because you want to avoid an argument.”

“Is he right, Marty?” Pete stared at the guitarist. “You think we should have tried out for the prom gig?”

Marty looked down at his lunch tray, picking up a piece of bread (the day’s lunch was ravioli and “garlic bread,” which was basically buttered white bread with a sprinkling of garlic salt). As Marty spoke, he began to pull the piece of bread into smaller pieces – just one of his several nervous habits.

“I – I think it wouldn’t have worked, if we wanted to actually _go_ to prom – how are we supposed to play and take dates?” he pointed out logically. “But . . . but I – I think . . . uh – “ 

“Oh, for God’s sake, spit it out!” Pete ordered.

Paul thrust a hand out at the keyboardist, hitting him square in the chest. “Lay off, Grande!” he said. Of the four bandmates, Paul and Marty had been friends the longest, going back to when they were kids in Boy Scouts. All four boys generally got along well, but the two that disagreed the most were Marty and Pete.

Marty grabbed Paul’s arm. “Hey, cool it. Strickland’s patrolling.”

For the next few minutes, the four boys stared down at their respective lunches, sitting quietly and respectfully. They weren’t the only ones. As the hated school disciplinarian and vice principal weaved his way through the tables, any nearby students immediately became subdued. At least, until Strickland moved on to another part of the cafeteria, either distracted by a mini food-fight or a vocal argument.

Once Strickland was a good distance from their table, Pete again glared at Marty. “Speak up, McFly.”

Marty glowered back. “Yeah, I think Isaac’s right. I think we need the experience of playing in front of a big crowd. Okay, so it won’t be prom – but what about the Solstice Festival? That’s not until June, and I think if we play a few more little things, we should be ready to audition for that.”

Paul leaned forward. “That might be a good idea. A lot of people are gone on summer vacations and stuff in June, and if we can all be here that weekend, and make ourselves available for the auditions, I think we’d stand a chance.”

Pete stared at Marty for a few moments, then looked down at the destroyed piece of bread on Marty’s lunch tray. “You think you’d be able to hack it? Up on a stage instead of playing pretend in Isaac’s basement?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Marty replied. “I thought our name was The Pinheads, not The Pretenders.”

Isaac snorted out milk. “So which one of us is Chrissie Hynde?”

By the time the bell rang that signaled the end of lunch, the four band members had constructed a preliminary plan for ensuring their availability for the band auditions for the festival, and had decided on a few audition songs that best showed their talents and range. Marty and Pete shook hands, and then Pete clapped him on the back, indicating that their earlier quarrel was forgotten. Marty was grinning as he headed out of the cafeteria – until Isaac caught up with him.

“Hey, how are you gonna ask Jennifer to junior prom?”

Marty hung back, glancing at his friend. “What do you mean? Why do I have to ask her at all? She’s my girlfriend. Of course she’s gonna go with me.”

Isaac raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Okay, man, whatever.”

Marty stopped, putting a restraining hand on Isaac’s arm. “What? I don’t get it. I mean, I know why you had to ask Sherri like you did, you guys haven’t really dated, but Jenn and I have been together for two years.”

Isaac shrugged. “I just know girls need to be asked, and it’s got to be special. My sister said it’s a big thing.” He pulled away, gesturing at the clock in the hallway. “I gotta go or I’m gonna be late to fifth period. Not everyone wants to rack up the tardies like you do, Mac.” 

Marty rolled his eyes with a short sigh that wasn’t entirely related to Isaac’s remark about his tardies. He disliked the nickname Isaac had recently bestowed upon him, and was sincerely hoping the drummer would cool it – but Marty was shrewd enough to understand that if he asked Isaac to stop, the guy would have everyone in the band – if not their whole class – calling him Mac.

Although if he had to choose, he’d rather Douglas Needles call him Mac than what that jerk had been calling him since junior high: “McChicken,” based on the short-lived McDonald’s sandwich. Needles still often used the term to entice Marty to participate in some kind of a dare. Marty hated to admit it, but it was a creative moniker, combining his surname with the hated description of “chicken.” He was generally impressed that Needles had been able to come up with the jibe.

Giving Isaac a half-wave, Marty watched his bandmate effortlessly blend into the mass of students rushing through the hallways. He mulled over the words Isaac had spoken. Asking a girl to prom is a “big thing.” It’s got to be special. His _sister_ had said so.

Marty wondered if his sister would agree.

Linda had gone to her junior prom two years ago with some guy named Mark, who she’d been dating casually. Marty couldn’t recall if Mark had done anything extravagant when he’d asked Linda to prom – the most that Marty remembered was that he hadn’t thought much of the guy. Although he’d been a lot better than the loser Linda had started seeing after Mark. That one was a real sleaze called “Tank” who had dropped out of school, smoked weed, and drank almost as much as Lorraine McFly.

Well, maybe he’d have to ask Linda if Isaac was right. Maybe he shouldn’t just assume Jennifer would go to prom with him – but what kind of elaborate request would she be expecting? A cute thing in front of her friends like Isaac had done? A big public display? Something fancy and romantic?

A bell pealed indicating the start of fifth hour, startling Marty from his reverie. Tardy again – this would be the fourth time this week. And he hadn’t even gotten to his locker yet.

If he didn’t watch it, Strickland would find some way to take the privilege of prom away from him, in lieu of detention. That would remove the problem of how to ask Jennifer to the event, but Marty didn’t care for that solution.

He took off running down the hall, thinking about how if he had a time machine, he’d never be late again.

**ooOoo**

Linda didn’t get home from work until right before supper, so Marty decided he’d talk to her after they ate. The siblings rarely spoke to each other about anything important during the evening meal, as the three of them just wanted to get through it, and didn’t want to prolong the agony. Lorraine McFly was determined that her family have one meal a day at the same table, and her children and husband complied when it was possible, but that didn’t mean they had to enjoy it. Lorraine would attempt to draw out conversation, and Marty and Linda and Dave would answer her questions out of obligation, but that was usually as far as they went. Innocuous statements would sometimes be shared, or small digs that were meant as mild insults toward their parents. The insults usually fell on deaf ears; George was often too distracted, either by work or the television, and Lorraine was often too soused. Fortunately, Lorraine was a semi-functional drunk, and was able to cook the dinner without starting a house fire – so far.

 _Give her time,_ Marty thought, forcing himself to swallow a bite of over-cooked chicken. He didn’t want to be the only one in the family with that undesirable reference on his resume. _Of course, that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t left out her cigarette lighter. And I was only eight at the time, not forty-six and a parent to three teenagers._

Well, make that two teenagers. Dave was a few weeks shy of twenty-two, but his behavior, his lack of motivation, and the fact that he still lived at home were all factors that made the oldest brother seem more like a teenager. Dave did have a job, and had in fact been working at Burger King since he’d been sixteen, but the young man didn’t currently have a lot to show for it. The job had only been on weekends during the school year, and at that time most of Dave’s pay had gone for things like new shoes, record albums, and the infrequent date. When Dave had worked full-time in the summers and started making more money, his parents had advised him to set a little aside, so he could maybe save enough to attend a tech school or the community college after graduation. Dave had grudgingly followed his parents' advice, opening up a savings account at the Bank of America in the town square. When the young man had been accepted to Hill Valley Community College, he’d paid for most of his tuition himself (although his parents had kicked in about a quarter of the funds). Dave had done well in his first semester at HVCC, surprising everyone, including himself. He’d shown an aptitude for business and numbers, and had optimistic expectations for his post-college future, which included applying for a management position at the fast food restaurant (where he was still working part-time), or even changing jobs altogether. And then during spring break, Dave had met Nick Spuccino.

Sputnik (as Nick was commonly called) had been introduced to Dave through a mutual acquaintance. Although Sputnik‘s main specialty was weed and he didn’t like to refer to himself as a “drug dealer,” that was exactly what he was. Dave, possibly because of a familial trait toward addiction, had quickly become dependent on Sputnik’s products. Dave’s savings account was depleted in a month. When the tuition came due for Dave’s second year at HVCC, the young man had been unable to pay his portion, and the McFly parents had footed the entire bill, on the condition that Dave would pay them back from his Burger King pay . . . but said pay went directly into Sputnik’s pocket. Dave had had to come up with consistently wilder stories to explain to his parents why he never seemed to have any money. He’d loaned a textbook to a friend who never returned it, and so had to purchase another. He’d ruined one of his uniforms at work, and the restaurant had made him kick in for a replacement. The bus fare had increased terribly. One of his co-workers had needed to borrow some cash to go visit a sick relative in another state. He’d gotten mugged in the alley right after he’d cashed his check at the bank.

While George and Lorraine had accepted Dave’s myriad of reasons for his lack of funds, Linda hadn’t fallen for the excuses. Recognizing Dave’s paranoia, mood swings, and lethargy for what they were, Linda was on to her brother’s habit early in the game. It had taken a little longer for the more naïve Marty to catch on. While Linda had claimed she didn’t want to get involved in Dave’s problem, Marty had been conflicted. The brothers quarreled often, but Marty had always looked up to Dave, and he’d now felt personally let down. To deal with his feelings of anger and betrayal, Marty would occasionally drop veiled hints to their parents about their eldest’s drug use, to Dave’s utter frustration. The college student had begged Marty to stop implying as such, alleging that he had everything under control and that he wasn’t addicted. Marty had been skeptical, but desperately hopeful that Dave was telling the truth, the younger brother had agreed to keep quiet. And over the summer, it appeared that Dave had truly pulled his life back together. The young man again became involved with his family, he was able to pay back a portion of the loan he'd received from his parents, and when the fall semester started, Dave’s grades (which had tanked in the spring) showed improvement. Marty could see the brother he recognized begin to reemerge.

Then one day in late September, Marty had arrived home from school later than usual (for a non-work afternoon), due to yet another Strickland-imposed detention. He'd gotten home just in time to see Sputnik driving away in his rusted-out Chevy. Incensed that the dealer had had the gall to come to their house, Marty had gone straight to Dave’s bedroom and had shouted invectives at his brother, declaring that when their parents got home, he was going to tell them every damn thing about Dave’s unwise choice of company and hobby. As no one else had been in the house at the time (George had still been at work, and the McFly women had taken the bus to the grocery store), Dave hadn’t had any reason or excuse to hold back, and he’d slugged his younger brother in the face. He’d hit Marty hard enough that the fourteen-year-old had smacked his head against the wall and had fallen to the floor, jarring his elbow so badly that it had brought tears to his eyes. Dave had immediately apologized, his face haunted and desperate, and he’d bent to help his brother. Marty had roughly pushed him away, struggled to his feet, and then had fled the house. He’d run straight to Doc’s, not even pausing to grab his skateboard. By the time he’d reached the converted garage his tears had dried, but Emmett had immediately recognized the boy’s distress, even though he’d only known Marty a month. He’d guided his troubled assistant to the couch, bombarding him with anxious questions about his hitching breaths and mild injuries. Not wanting to air the family dirty laundry (and more concerned about his brother than he’d been about himself), Marty had lied to Doc, and had said that he’d been bullied by some bigger teens after school. Which, unfortunately, was a thing that happened.

It hadn’t been long after that when the shit had hit the fan. Dave had dropped out of HVCC, claiming it was too hard to study and work (although the real reason had been to get a partial tuition refund, which he had earmarked to buy drugs). Before his parents could even properly react to that situation, Dave had thrown another curveball. He’d sneaked out of the house to attend a late-night Halloween party, so he could meet up with Sputnik. At the party Dave had made the acquaintance of a girl named Jessie, who’d been dressed as a slutty nurse. Dave and Jessie had ended up in a nearby alley where, drunk and high, they’d proceeded to make out . . . and more. They’d been discovered by a patrolling police officer just as an "excited" Dave was lowering his pants and a topless Jessie was wiggling out of her costume’s white skirt.

Lorraine and George had had to pick up Dave from the police station, and Marty and Linda had heard later that the lecture had started there, before the trio had even left the building. Lorraine – bolstered by a quick shot of vodka prior to leaving the house – had shouted and railed and condemned and sobbed. George had stood quietly by, and Dave had said afterwards that that was almost worse – the complete disappointment and sadness in his timid father’s eyes.

For a while Dave was not allowed to take the bus to work – either George or Lorraine shuttled him back and forth. Usually Lorraine would take Dave to work, as when Dave needed to come home, if Lorraine wasn’t already in a drunken stupor, she was far too inebriated to drive. Instead George would pick up his son. Marty had been surprised that his parents had let Dave keep his job after the debacle with Jessie, until he’d realized that much of the money that Dave earned went to pay the fines he’d incurred for public intoxication, drug possession, and indecent exposure. And by the time the fines had been satisfied, there’d been a long enough period since the arrest that George and Lorraine had decided to try and trust their eldest child, and Dave had begun to take the bus again.

When Linda’s prom had rolled around in the spring, she’d made sure that her night would be ostensibly tame, having learned from Dave’s mistakes. The young woman had reassured her wary parents that nothing more exciting would happen than the dance itself, and the after-prom event at the bowling alley. There would not be any public sexual activity or alcohol or drug use – Linda had decided to avoid Dave’s pitfalls by getting a motel room.

While Marty had been privy to Linda’s agenda, Lorraine and George had been completely unaware of what their daughter had arranged for her evening. Linda’s date, Mark Hawkins, had arrived at the McFly house in an ill-fitting tux and with a wilted corsage for Linda. Marty had taken an instant dislike to the guy, but the McFly parents had been completely charmed; Mark had been a master at obsequious chatter, and he was able to easily distract the adults while still making eyes at Linda. George had taken several pictures of the couple, and then he and Lorraine had waved happily at them as they left in Mark’s very normal Honda Accord.

Marty had been present for about five minutes of the pre-prom introductions before he’d gone to his room; Mark’s whole performance had made him want to gag, and he was afraid he’d let something slip about Linda and Mark’s real plans. But Marty had been sworn to secrecy by Linda, and pleased that his sister had trusted him, Marty had agreed to not breathe a word to their parents. Although prior to hiding in his room, he had pulled his sister aside and quietly bid her to be careful. Even though Marty was the younger brother, he felt protective of Linda, possibly because they were close in age. His parental-type advice had gotten him an extreme eye-rolling reaction. “My baby brother, who’s probably never even gotten to second base, is telling me to practice safe sex,” Linda had whispered back.

Two years ago, when Linda had made that statement, she’d technically been correct. Marty and Jennifer had been dating less than five months at that point, and their physical relationship had been slow-going; Marty hadn’t wanted to rush Jennifer, who’d been on the rebound from a break-up. But now that the couple had been together for over two years, Marty made it to second base fairly often, thank you very much. And on one fairly recent occasion - Valentine’s Day, in fact - there’d been some brief third base action in the rec room at Jennifer’s house. The teens had known they wouldn’t be alone for long, as Jennifer’s parents, out for a Valentine’s Day dinner, had been expected home by ten. So the young couple had gone quick and dirty with something that usually required more patience and practice. The attempt had not exactly been successful - it had been a little too quick, and plenty dirty. Now Jennifer was gun-shy, not wanting to go any further than where they’d been before Valentine’s Day. Marty hadn’t blamed her, considering it was the aim of his "shooting" that had prompted Jennifer's unease. He was also a little skittish about trying for third base again after that mess – at least, not without talking to someone about it first. Although who that might be, he had no clue. Definitely not his parents, and probably not even Dave. He knew Dave had been around the block, and that he would most likely laugh at his little brother’s error.

There was Linda, but Marty honestly wasn’t sure about her experience. She talked a good game when their parents weren’t around, and she did sneak around with guys like Tank and stay in motel rooms with guys like Mark, but Linda exuded innocence when around their parents, and also showed a certain lack of dating knowledge. Of course it could all be an act, but it was so sincere – and Linda’s sincerity on that front was one of the reasons why Marty had been so concerned that his sister take precautions on her prom night. Sure, maybe she drank or smoked a little pot when she was with Tank and/or Mark, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d rounded the bases with either of them. And he hated to think that someone might’ve taken advantage of Linda by getting her high or drunk. 

As the family-attended dinner wound down, Lorraine took a gulp of her wine (she’d taken to drinking wine lately, in an effort to look more elegant), then peered at her children. “Whose turn izit to clear?” she asked, slurring slightly.

Linda and Marty both automatically pointed at Dave. “Can’t,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and rising. “Gotta catch the bus. Don’t want to be late for work.”

Marty studied his brother with a cynical eye. “You wearing that to work?” he asked, gesturing at Dave’s casual attire of jeans and a sweatshirt. “They change the uniform again?”

Linda coughed on a bite of bread. George looked up from his paperwork, leaning over to pat her back absently. “Chew, Linda,” he murmured.

Dave glared daggers at Marty. “There’s a meeting for the evening staff. You don’t have to wear your uniform unless you’re scheduled,” he said acidly, speaking solely to his brother.

Marty shrugged, not wanting to continue the argument. He and Dave got along well now, much better than they had when Dave had been using, and their relationship was almost back to normal. But there was still that threat of antagonism that simmered below the surface, occasionally boiling over when Dave got arrogant or Marty got mouthy.

“You’d better hurry, David,” Lorraine advised. After bending to kiss his mother on the cheek, Dave smirked at Marty, then headed for the door. With a grumbling sigh, Marty rose, gathering his plate and Dave’s. “I’ll clear, Ma.”

“Oh, thank you, Marty, honey,” Lorraine gushed. Linda let out another cough. George glanced up again, but she held up a hand and shook her head. “I’m fine, Dad.” 

Marty ended up not only clearing the table, but also washing the dishes (as the dishwasher was on the fritz). Lorraine remained at the table, finishing the bottle of wine she’d opened just an hour before, trying to grab George’s attention from the twin distractions of his work and the nearby television. Leaving the pan with the scalded chicken remains to soak, Marty wiped his hands on a dishtowel, glancing over at his seated parents. Lorraine had moved closer to George, and was holding his left hand. George was still scribbling onto his papers, but Marty saw him squeeze Lorraine’s hand, and he smiled at the sight. Even with all the problems that his parents seemed to have, they had been together since high school, and soon would be having their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. So somewhere in between Lorraine’s addictive personality and George’s milquetoast demeanor, there was still love.

Or, at the very least, affection. 

Marty sidled noiselessly past his parents, moving with the practiced ease he'd honed by sneaking in and out of his bedroom window at all hours of the night. Going to Linda’s room, he knocked quietly on the door, then tried the knob. It turned freely under his hand, so he cracked the door open. “Linda?”

The nineteen-year-old didn’t immediately notice her younger brother. She was parsing through the clothes in her closet and singing along to Pat Benatar’s “Love is a Battlefield,” which was playing loudly from her modest boombox (a Christmas gift from Marty). Linda was almost as passionate about music as Marty was, although she had no talent for playing an instrument. She did have a passable voice, but she was uncomfortable displaying it; she refrained from singing aloud unless she could blend into a group or if she thought no one could hear – especially not her vocally-talented younger brother. Marty leaned against the door jamb and listened, grinning. First his parents had surprised him, and now this.

“We are strong,” Linda sang, pulling out a purposefully frayed blouse and a pair of bright leggings. “No one can tell us we’re wrong –“

“Searching our hearts for so lo-on-ng,” Marty belted out, and then burst out laughing when Linda turned around so fast she dropped the clothes in her hands.

Linda’s shock quickly turned to fury. “You asshole!” she shrieked. Linda rarely used the pejorative nicknames that Dave had for Marty – shrimp, squirt, or runt – as she was of short stature herself, but she had plenty of other things to say to her younger brother. “You goddamn nosy pain in the ass – “

“Can I be an asshole _and_ a pain in the ass?” Marty asked cheekily. “Is that physically possible?”

Linda grabbed an empty wooden hanger from her closet and whipped it at Marty – smacking him directly in the face. Marty immediately stopped laughing and brought his hands to his nose, letting out a strangled cry.

As Marty’s mirth died, so did Linda’s anger. Moving quickly to the door of her room, she pulled Marty inside, sitting him on her bed. After shutting her door and turning off her radio, Linda sat beside her brother. “Let me see,” she said, cautiously pulling at his wrists. “How bad is it? Do I need to get Mom?”

Marty slowly removed his hands, looking down uneasily at blood on his fingers. “It hurts like hell. What did you do to me?”

Linda hissed softly. “Shit.” Pulling Marty around, she aimed him so he could look into the mirror on her vanity. Gazing at his reflection, Marty repeated the curse.

There was a long, bleeding cut across the bridge of his nose, trailing down to under his left eye. He moaned at the sight, prodding the injury gently. “Aw man, this better be healed by prom.”

Linda had risen to grab a box of tissues from her vanity table. “Prom?”

“Uh-huh.” Linda took a seat on the bed again, swatted Marty’s hand away from the cut, and then began to wipe at the blood. “So you asked Jennifer to prom?”

“No, not yet.”

Linda paused, looking at Marty judgmentally. “Why the hell not?”

“Um, well, I didn’t think I needed to. But I found out today that I might be wrong. So I was gonna ask you what you thought.”

Linda resumed attending to her brother’s nose. “Jeez, Marty, I don’t even know how you rate that girl. You take her for granted much longer and she’s gonna break up with you.”

Marty flinched as Linda moved to the scrape under his eye. “Watch it!” The nineteen-year-old rolled her eyes, took a fresh tissue, and dabbed at the blood still mildly seeping on Marty’s nose. “And I don’t take Jenn for granted,” he continued. “I want to take her to prom! I just didn’t think I’d have to do a whole thing like what Isaac did for Sherri Nielson.”

“Isaac – he’s the drummer, right?” Marty nodded carefully. “What did he do, play a drum solo or something?“

Marty was mildly impressed that Linda had guessed nearly correctly. “Well, kinda. He sang – he’s got a pretty good voice, he’ll sing lead sometimes to give me a break – and played a little to accompany it. Just with his sticks on the table.”

“The table? Where did he do it? What did he sing?”

“In the cafeteria. Uh, ‘Oh, Sherrie’ by Steve Perry.”

Linda leaned back, her mouth twisting in a frown of distaste. “I don’t really like that song – I don’t care if it was the girl’s name. That song is all about how the singer and Sherrie are bad for each other, but stick together anyway.”

“No, it’s not!” Marty disagreed. “It’s more about how even though he’s changed, she’s not perfect either. Things might have been rough, but their love is enough to overcome it. You know, it ‘holds on.’”

“Pfft,” Linda muttered, smacking Marty lightly on the arm. “Hopeless romantic.”

“Have you _seen_ the video?”

“That’s just superficial – the director was trying to get more hits on MTV.” Linda shrugged.

Marty grinned, winced, and modified to a less painful smile. “Isaac didn’t sing much of the song, and he changed the lyrics, anyway.” He looked intently at his sister. “Isaac was the one that told me I have to ask Jennifer to prom that way, like do something really corny or ridiculous. Is that right? I don’t remember Mark doing that when he asked you to prom.”

Linda snorted. “ _I_ asked him.”

Marty let out a theatrical gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You asked a boy out? Does Lorraine know about this?”

“You mean St. Lorraine? Hardly.” Linda rose to toss the soiled tissues into her waste basket, then leaned against her vanity table. She narrowed her eyes at her brother. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

“Hey, I never told her you got a motel room, did I? And I never told her about Tank.” Marty became serious. “You don’t still see him, do you?”

“No, _Dad_ , I’m not seeing him anymore, okay?” She sighed. “He just wanted one thing, and he wasn’t worth me giving it to him.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Marty said. “I don’t know why you were seeing him anyway.”

“Maybe because he was a good kisser, maybe just as a big middle finger to Mom, I don’t know.” Linda shook her head, as if in an attempt to dispel herself of the bad choice she’d made.

“You _are_ worth more than that, Lin,” Marty said quietly. “Don’t just pick a guy because he’s a good kisser, or because he gives you the time of day. You deserve better than Tank, you even deserve better than Mark.”

“Mark wasn’t _so_ bad,” Linda said defensively. “He did say yes when I asked him to prom. And that’s what we’re talking about, you asking Jennifer to prom, so quit distracting me!”

“Fine, fine.” Marty held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “So what do I do? Do I have to do a big memorable ask in front of the whole school, or meet her someplace with a dozen roses, or sing her a song, like Isaac?” He ran nervous fingers through his hair. “It’s not like I’m proposing to her.”

Linda huffed softly. “Close enough. For most girls, the most important things that will happen to them in their lives is prom, and their wedding."

“Well, I don’t want to waste my best stuff on a prom ask,” Marty said, rising and beginning to pace in the small space between Linda’s bed and vanity. “Why does this have to be so difficult?”

Linda smiled at her fretful brother. “You’re making it too hard. You’ve been with Jennifer a long time, you know each other pretty well – at least, I _hope_ you know her.” Marty sent Linda a sour look; she waved off his stink-eye. “You know her so well? What does she like? What does she like about you?”

Marty stopped pacing, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “She really supports my music. She goes to almost everything the Pinheads play at, even though it’s mostly small stuff, like at a street market or some charity thing for the animal shelter. She’s kinda our band’s personal groupie,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, that’s something to work with.” Linda chewed on her lips. “But you can’t just sing a song to her that has her name in it, not when Isaac already did that – “

“And what would I pick, anyway? ‘867-5309’? I’m not singing her a song about some guy finding a girl’s number on a wall. And _that_ video is about the singer peeping on a girl named Jenny!”

“I’ll give you that,“ Linda snickered. “That’s why you’re going to write her a song.” Marty raised his eyebrows in question, but Linda was on a roll. “One you can play on your fancy guitar, and then you gotta figure out a way to get yourself up on the stage in the gym, so you can hook up to an amp. . .” Linda’s eyes were glistening with excitement. “Yeah, yeah, that would be so awesome!”

“And a lot of work, and I could get in big trouble,” Marty pointed out. “Strickland will string me up. Which would make it hard to go to prom.”

“Do you want Jennifer to go to prom with you or not?” Linda demanded.

“Of course I do!”

“And did you come to me for advice?”

“. . . yeah. . . “

Linda stepped forward to lay a hand on Marty’s shoulder. “You don’t want to do what I suggest, fine. Ask Mom for some dating tips. And she’ll tell you, for like the four-hundredth time, about how she and Dad met when Grandpa hit him with the car, and how it was fate, and how they kissed and fell in love at the dance, and blah blah blah blah blah. You want to hear that story again?”

“God, no.” Marty mock-shuddered. “I know it by heart already – don’t you remember last time, when I started reciting it with her?” The siblings shared a laugh. “Yeah,” Linda said with a smile, “she didn’t care for that at _all_.”

Marty’s grin faded. “Mom would probably try to talk me out of taking Jenn to prom anyway. She keeps saying how she doesn’t trust Jennifer, that she thinks she’s too forward.”

“Then that settles it. You do what I said: write her a song, sneak your stuff on the stage, and serenade her during her gym class.” Linda sat down on her bed, crossing her arms assuredly. “Now get out of here and leave me alone. Go put a Band-Aid on your nose or something.”

Which is what Marty did, slinking into the bathroom so that neither of his parents could see his injury. Then he’d retired to his room, to lie down on his bed and try to think up some appropriate lyrics for a song that would impress Jennifer.

* * *

**Wednesday, April 10th, 1985**

**3:28 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

When Marty headed to Doc’s garage after school the next day, he still didn’t have any idea of what lyrics to write. In fact, he was hoping Doc would put him to work on some mundane task, like washing beakers and test tubes or sweeping the work area or even doing the laundry, so that he wouldn’t have to concentrate on the chore and could instead mentally compose lyric possibilities. Letting himself into the building with the key under the mat, Marty had to quickly deposit his backpack and skateboard so he could defend himself against Einstein’s furry lunge. No matter how often he saw the dog (usually at least four times a week), Einstein regularly behaved as if he hadn’t seen Marty in months. As Marty didn’t have a lot of people who were consistently that happy to see him (only Einstein, Doc, and Jennifer fit that bill), he didn’t mind that the sheepdog lavished attention on him – as long as he was prepared for it. “Hey, buddy, get down, okay?” he said, firmly pushing at the vigorously wriggling dog. “Good boy, good Einie.” He bent to affectionately ruffle the dog’s fur. “Wanna go for a walk later?”

Doc’s voice came from the back part of the garage, near the bathroom. “Marty? Is that you?”

Marty straightened, smiling. “Yeah, Doc. Why? Were you expecting someone else?”

Emmett came walking into the living area, carrying a basket of freshly dried laundry. ( _Damn_ , Marty thought.) “No, I just wasn’t sure if I heard you come in, or if Einstein had gotten into – “ Doc dropped the laundry basket to the floor, where it landed among the usual substantial clutter. “Great Scott, Marty, what happened to your face?”

Marty lifted a hand to his nose. He’d taken the Band-Aid off in the morning as his injury had stopped bleeding – and also because the bandage had looked ridiculous. Of course, that had made the deep reddened cut, as well as a small bruise near his eye, fully apparent. He’d gotten numerous comments at school, and a fair share of them had been half-jokes about Jennifer slugging him in a fit of rage. Most of the people that knew him well, though, had speculated that the teen had taken an unfortunate fall from his skateboard. Since the reality of the injury was fairly embarrassing on its own, Marty hadn’t corrected the skateboard wipeout rumor. He considered telling Doc the same falsehood, but with his luck, Doc would mention something to his parents, and then he’d get his board taken away. . .

“It was just a stupid accident at home. Nothing big. I’m fine.”

Emmett moved forward, placing a hand under Marty’s chin and tipping his head up. “At home, you say?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you? You didn’t get into another fight at school?

Marty stepped back, surprised and little disappointed. “What? No! Geez, you sound like my parents! I haven’t gotten into a fight in years!” Or months, actually, but he’d won that fight, so there was little need to mention that.

“I’m sorry, Marty – it just looks like you were struck by someone who was wearing a ring.”

Marty shook his head in frustration. That had been the general consensus at school, too, which was why Jennifer hitting him had been such a frequent guess, even though his girlfriend rarely wore rings on either hand. Needles, however, commonly sported a gaudy skull ring on his right hand. . . “No, Doc. It was nothing like that. Linda hit me in the face with a hanger she threw at me.”

If anything, that seemed to concern Doc more. “Linda? Are there problems at home again?”

Marty’s shoulders slumped and he sighed in dejection. _“No!”_ he repeated. He didn’t think he’d have to explain this in such detail. “I was picking on her, like brothers and sisters _do_ , and when I got smart she threw a hanger at me. It was an accident, she didn’t mean to hurt me, I wasn’t in a fight, and nothing’s going on at home!”

Emmett regarded his assistant quietly for a few moments. Marty was breathing hard, suddenly worked up and not sure why; he swallowed, dropping his head and blinking rapidly.

“Are you thirsty? Would you like some milk, or a soda?”

“Y-yeah.” Marty nodded, scarcely moving his head. “A soda, I guess.”

The two moved to the table in the living area, which was currently a catch-all for several of Doc’s current projects. Emmett gathered up several items (a label maker, a variety of small screwdrivers, and some partially constructed digital panels) and set them aside, then pulled out a chair and indicated that Marty should sit. Going to the refrigerator, the man pulled out two cans of Diet Pepsi Free, bringing them back to the table.

Marty glanced up as Doc set one can in front of him, then sat down with his own can of the soft drink. “Doc, you don’t have to keep this stuff on hand all the time, just because I drink it,” the teen said quietly.

Emmett cracked his can open. “That’s not the only reason I purchase it. This brand and variety of beverage is enjoyable without being superfluous; I have sufficient energy and I don’t have hypersomnia, so increasing my glucose or caffeine intake with a sugary stimulant is unnecessary.” He took a sip of the decaffeinated diet drink.

“Oh. Yeah, um, okay.” Marty tried to break down the doc’s statement into words he could understand, then ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He opened his own can, but didn’t take a drink. He stared into the small hole at the dark liquid, gently sloshing the soda and watching the bubbles rise.

Emmett studied Marty closely, frowning at the welt on his young friend’s nose. When Marty remained unmoving, still not partaking of his drink, the older man sighed heavily. “Marty. Look at me.”

The teen raised his eyes, staring coolly at Doc. He didn’t speak.

Emmett set his can aside, leaning forward on the table. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions about your wound. But I worry about you, and you must understand why. You didn’t tell me about your problems with David, and you lied about your injury then. I still feel uncomfortable keeping that from your parents – “

“Doc, no, you can’t say anything!” Marty’s eyes widened in panic. “That was years ago, and Dave’s doing okay now. Please, please don’t tell my parents.”

Emmett tapped his fingers idly on the table. “I don’t care for how you lied to me when he hit you.”

Marty let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about that, Doc, _really_ , but I didn’t know you that well then, I’d only been working for you for about a month. I wasn't sure what you’d do if I told you that Dave had slugged me. I didn’t want to get him in trouble; it really wasn’t his fault, it was the drugs and fear and everything.”

“That didn’t give him the right to assault you. That environment was unhealthy for you to be in.”

 _Being raised by an alcoholic isn’t great shakes either._ “Well, it all sorted out anyway, when Dave got himself in trouble,” Marty reminded his mentor.

After Dave’s arrest, George and Lorraine had actually participated in progressive parenting by visiting Doc to let him know what had recently happened with their eldest, and then requesting that Emmett keep an attentive eye on their youngest son. “Are you implying that you think Marty might fall victim to the same vices as David?” Emmett had asked in shock, not believing that possible of the then fourteen-year-old.

“Of course not!” Lorraine had said. George had rested a hand on his wife’s arm, smiled nervously, and fumbled out an explanation. “We, well, we just think that Marty might be, uh, upset by everything. He tends to not talk to us, and we thought maybe. . .” He’d gestured weakly in Emmett’s direction.

The next time that Marty had come to the garage, overly carefree and chattering excitedly, Emmett had sat the boy down, told him of his parent’s visit, and then had informed Marty that he would listen to anything the teen wanted to say . . . or confess. Marty had been hesitant to agree, finally saying that he would speak candidly only if Doc swore to not forward any of the facts on to the McFly parents. Understanding that Marty needed the assurance to feel safe, the scientist had promised to keep the information private. After the agreement (and a cup of hot cocoa), it had only taken about five minutes of prying before everything had come spilling out, including the true cause of Marty’s black eye and surprise visit in September. Emmett had been understandably upset, both by the knowledge that Marty’s brother had struck him and also because Marty hadn’t divulged it when it had happened. “It was just a black eye – I was okay,” Marty had said. “There’s no reason to tell my folks – that was over a month ago. Plus, Dave’s got enough going on right now,” he’d stressed.

“How are things with David currently?” Emmett asked now. “There hasn’t been any more trouble, has there?”

Marty shook his head, trailing his finger around the top of his Pepsi can. “No, no trouble. He’s still working next door at BK, he doesn’t meet up with that stoner jerk anymore, and he and I are getting along great again. He didn’t go back to school, but my parents don’t really care as long as he keeps his nose clean.”

“And everything at home is fine.”

“Yes, Doc! My dad works a lot, and my mom stays home more than she should, and Linda is too obsessed with her looks and her clothes, but that’s normal. Everything’s fine!” Marty finally took a sip of his soda, but then set the can down somewhat brusquely. “Everything’s . . . just . . . great.” 

“I see.” Doc took another long drink, then abruptly stood. “I think it’s time for you to head home, Marty.”

The sixteen-year-old stared up in confusion, his stomach clenching as he saw the almost unrecognizable sternness on Doc’s face. “Leave? But –“ Marty glanced at his watch, feeling the clench increase as he viewed the gift Doc had given him almost two years ago. “I’ve only been here fifteen minutes!”

“Yes,” Emmett said with a sigh. “Maybe the next time you come, you’ll decide to be honest with me, and then you can stay and actually do your job. But today is not that day.”

“Oh,” Marty said in a small voice, slowly rising from the table. Einstein, who had retired to his basket, came bounding over, anticipating a walk. Marty stroked the sheepdog on the head. “Sorry, Einie – I gotta go,” he said mournfully. “I’ll see you later.”

Doc watched silently as Marty walked the few steps to the side door; Einstein, not understanding Marty’s dispirited mood, followed behind the boy. Marty grabbed his backpack and skateboard from the floor and placed one hand on the doorknob, but didn’t immediately turn the knob. Doc could see the teen take a deep breath, his shoulders heaving with the effort. Then Marty’s back became rigid, and his hand lowered from the door. He dropped his skateboard, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Dave still smokes weed sometimes, and it scares me – I don’t know if he might lose it again, and I really miss how close we used to be. My old man is a big pushover who is afraid of his own shadow, and he lets everyone take advantage of him, especially his asshole supervisor. My mom drinks too much, and I know she’s not happy. Linda judges herself based on what kind of guys like her, and I worry about one of them hurting her – and then there’s me.”

Emmett stepped closer to Marty, but still left a few feet between himself and the boy. “What about you?” he asked softly.

Marty turned, and Emmett was struck by how lost the teen looked. “I do whatever I can to ignore what’s going on at home, to act like everything’s fine. I try to make sure I don’t stick out . . . I gotta have the right clothes and the best stuff – like my skateboard, my guitar, my walkman. . ." He actually did get ribbing from the guys over his choice of a personal cassette player, but as he truly felt the Aiwa was superior to a Sony, he did his best to ignore them.

The teen continued his lament. "But I still screw stuff up. I can’t get to school on time, I do lousy in my classes – “

“Those sound like typical teenage issues to me,” Doc said gently.

Marty went on as if he hadn’t heard the older man speak “– my band’s going nowhere, I have a bad temper, I take Jennifer for granted – and my best friend is the town’s resident mad scientist.“

Emmett grinned. “Is that all?”

A smile tugged at Marty’s lips. “Yeah, I guess a lot of it is superficial, and I shouldn’t let it get to me. And usually I can even handle the big stuff, because I have you to talk to. But if even you don’t want me around . . . “ Marty’s voice trailed off faintly as his smile disappeared.

Doc crossed the small space between them. “Marty, did you really think I was going to let you leave?”

Marty looked up doubtfully. “What?”

“I was ready to stop you when you did it yourself.” The scientist smiled sincerely. “I might not have that much experience interpreting adolescent behavior, but I do recall my mother did a similar thing to me when I was a child. I had decided I was unhappy at home, that my parents were being unreasonably strict and woefully ignorant. I stated to my mother that I would be running away, and her reaction was to make me a sack lunch and assist me in packing.”

“You’re kidding.” Marty’s interest briefly overcame his depression. “What happened next?”

“That’s basically as far as it went. My mother went into my room with me, and began picking out several outfits, clothing that would be appropriate for the current weather. She also included some stationery, suggesting I write when I reached a destination, so she and my father would have a location where they could send my birthday and Christmas gifts. She continued in that vein, subtly reminding me of everything I would miss if I left home. Eventually I recognized that my mother, at least, was not as ignorant as I had earlier believed, and I decided my plan of running away was rather childish.”

“Well, you _were_ a child. How old were you?”

“Hmm . . . I believe I was seven years old.”

Marty chuckled admiringly. “You were seven, and you were already describing your actions as being childish. Man, Doc.”

“Oh, I may not have been thinking in those terms at the time, but as I look back on it, that is definitely how I view the whole situation. I was rash and stubborn. Fortunately, my mother was intelligent enough to rectify the situation.”

“She used reverse-psychology on you,” Marty said, then his face went slack in surprise. “And you just did it to me,” he said accusingly, looking indignantly at his friend.

Doc shrugged, offering a crooked smile. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am? You made me say all that stuff to you, about my family – “

“Was it true?”

Marty opened his mouth, but all that came out was a soft grunt. He shut his mouth, breathed hard through his nose, and tried again. “I don’t – Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Doc echoed.

Marty smiled faintly. “Doc, can we sit down again? I think we’re confusing Einstein.”

Emmett looked down at his eager dog, who was sitting on the floor between the two. “Oh, yes, let’s,” he said, gesturing to the table. Marty unshouldered his backpack, and the two took their previous seats, in front of their partial cans of soda. After an unhappy whine, Einstein trotted over, crawling under the table to sit upon Marty’s feet.

“You were saying?” Emmett coaxed the teen.

Marty nodded. He reached down to pet the dog as he began to speak, finding it easier to not look at Doc.

“Most everything I said is true. Home’s not great. But it’s . . . home. It’s my family, and I love them, warts and all. Nobody’s life is perfect.” He looked up, and saw Doc’s somber eyes regarding him. “And it’s not that big a deal, Doc. I’m _fine_. I have good things in my life – my music, you, Jennifer. . . “ He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head sadly. “If I don’t screw things up with her.”

“And why do you think that could happen?”

Marty took a deep drink of diet cola to fortify himself. “Junior prom is coming up.”

“Prom?”

“Yeah, you know. Prom. Did you have that when you were in high school? Did they have prom back then? Or was it called something different?”

Emmett nodded and waved a hand at the same time; Marty figured the combined gestures meant “more or less.” He waited quietly for the explanation.

“The prom – or promenade – was a fairly new event when I was in school,” Doc started. “It originated as a college formal in this area. The dance was very proper – it was based off of debutante balls, which introduced well-off girls to society. There were clear manners and customs to follow, as well as specific dress codes. I think the rules started to become more lenient around the time that your parents were in school.”

Marty thought about the photograph of his parents from their fall formal, the “Enchantment Under the Sea” dance. The framed photo, displayed on the fireplace mantel, showed his dad, dapper in a white jacket and black bow tie, embracing his impossibly young and pretty mother, who was wearing a (gasp) strapless dress. Both were smiling and happy.

“I think it’s pretty lenient now, but we still dress nice. I’ll have to get a tux. . . I think it’s supposed to complement Jenn’s dress. “

“Oh, yes, that’s true. You could match your tie or cummerbund to Jennifer’s dress color – matching the pocket square is debatable, but you did say dress codes were more lenient now.“ Before a bemused Marty could inquire about Doc’s sartorial knowledge, the older man asked, “When is the dance?”

“It’s at the end of the month – the 27th.”

Doc did his normal rapid-fire calculating. “That gives you sixteen days to plan. Is that adequate time for Jennifer and you to procure your respective formal clothing?”

“I don’t know,” Marty admitted. “But I haven’t asked her if she’ll go with me yet, so it’s gonna be even less time than that.”

“You need to ask her?” Emmett’s confused expression matched the one Marty had worn earlier when the scientist had been talking about pocket squares. “Why is that necessary? You two are still dating, correct?”

Marty, who had been taking another drink, nodded and swallowed at the same time. The soda’s carbonation tickled his throat, making him cough slightly. “Yeah,” he forced out, “we’ve been together at least two years.“

Again Doc ran the numbers. “If you are using your first movie date as the origination point of your romantic relationship, then it’s been two years, three months, and twenty-three– “ he broke off as Marty slowly shook his head. Emmett‘s brow furrowed. “That’s accurate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Doc, it is,” Marty said, impressed. “It just amazes me sometimes, how you can figure that stuff out in the blink of an eye.” Doc tipped his head in an attempt at modesty, and Marty grinned before continuing. “But it doesn’t matter how long we’ve been dating. Apparently, I shouldn’t just ‘assume’ –“ he made halfhearted air quotes “– that Jenn will go to prom with me. I still have to ask her. It’s this whole thing; guys have to make these big elaborate prom proposals, something expensive or public or creative.”

“But why?” Emmett asked again. “It’s just a dance – granted, it’s a formal dance, but it’s not like you’re asking for her hand in marriage.”

“Exactly!” Marty cried, slapping the table in total agreement. “I said the same thing! It seems so – so – What did you say about regular soda? That it’s super–what?“

“Superfluous.”

“Yeah. Is that the right word? That means too much, or unnecessary, right?”

Doc hmm'ed agreeably. “Exorbitant, excessive, indulgent– “

“Yes! Indulgent!” Marty looked temporarily triumphant, but then became somber. “I guess we don’t understand it, maybe because we’re guys. I talked to Linda about it – it was either that or talk to my mom, and _that_ wasn’t going to happen – and she said this prom ask thing was real important to girls. Actually she confirmed it; I’d heard it at school, too, but I wasn’t really sure of anything until Linda told me.”

"And what did Linda say?" Doc asked, truly curious. 

"She gave me a project, and I'm stuck." Sighing wearily, Marty leaned back in his chair, shifting his feet and awakening Einstein. The dog yawned and moved over to Emmett, nudging his head against his master's knee. Doc scratched the drowsy sheepdog around the ears. "A project?"

"Yeah. I have to write a song for Jennifer, and then figure out how to get my guitar and amp set up on the stage in the gym without anyone noticing. I suppose maybe a mic, too. . . And then I'm supposed to serenade Jenn during her P.E. class."

"What part of the project has you stymied?"

Marty spread his hands out in exasperation. "All of it! I'm sure I could get my stuff on the stage, the guys would probably help me with that, but I'm also sure that I'll get caught, especially if I disrupt Jenn's class. And I can't risk getting in more trouble – I’m already on Strickland's radar because of my tardies and my 'attitude'." Another air-quote gesture accompanied this word. "But I'm actually having the hardest time with the first part – that’s where I’m stuck. It shouldn’t be so hard to write a song for Jennifer, but I can't come up with any good lyrics!" he said hopelessly. "It’s really bugging me. Maybe that means something. Maybe we're not – I'm not – " Marty sighed again, then worried at his lower lip, which had begun to tremble.

Emmett smiled gently at his young friend. "Don't panic, Marty. I think you're putting too much pressure on yourself." Marty's only response was a shrug, so Doc went on. "Why does Linda believe you need to write and perform a song for Jennifer?" 

Marty blinked. "Because I play guitar," he said plainly, lifting his eyebrows and giving the scientist an odd stare.

"Oh, don’t look at me like I’m some dimwit,” Emmett admonished the teen. “I understand that music is one of your talents, but how does that relate to Jennifer?"

Marty reddened at Doc’s rebuke, rubbing self-consciously at his neck. "Sorry, Doc. Uh, Jenn loves my guitar playing, and she's always there to support my band, at auditions or gigs or even just when we jam. It makes sense to use my music to ask her to prom, you know?"

“Does it?” Doc frowned slightly, then rose from his seat. Marty looked up as the scientist began to pace, knowing from the familiar M.O. that deep thoughts were occurring. "What, Doc?” Marty asked, his curiosity causing him to rise as well. “What are you thinking? Should I do something different?"

Emmett shook his head quickly, gazing down at the floor as he paced. Einstein came out from under the table, roused by the activity. He watched his master briefly, then let out a sharp bark. Both Marty and Emmett looked at the sheepdog; Doc was so startled by the noise that he stopped abruptly. “Einstein, please – I’m trying to think!” he scolded.

Einstein merely looked up with his usual canine grin, then meandered over to Marty and again plopped down on the teen’s feet. Marty grunted, gazing down at the dog with annoyed affection. “Einie, you’re getting a little too heavy for that.”

Emmett, still motionless, regarded the scene. He smiled fondly, recalling Marty’s first visit to his lab/house/garage. George and Lorraine had accompanied the boy, wanting to check out their son’s possible employer and workplace. While the three adults had discussed the particulars of Marty’s likely “assistant” position, the fourteen-year-old had taken a young Einstein for a short walk. When the two had returned to the garage, Einstein had promptly sat at Marty’s feet and rested his head on one of the boy’s sneakers. It had gradually become a habit, and Marty, never one to shy away from physical affection, hadn’t discouraged it. Eventually Einstein had begun sitting on the boy’s feet, and Doc had concluded that was purposeful on his dog’s part, for it essentially prevented Marty from leaving the garage.

The image Doc recalled was of a younger, smaller Marty (as well as a younger, smaller Einstein). In his mind’s eye he could see the hopeful, excited kid, standing at his doorway with skinned knees poking out from under a pair of baggy gym shorts, grinning like a loon as his parents gave him permission to work for the town eccentric. And Einstein, somehow knowing that this young boy would become like a second master, contentedly using Marty’s foot as a pillow.

“Doc?” Marty asked worriedly. “You okay?”

Emmett blinked, and in a flash sixteen-year-old Marty was standing before him, clad in jeans and a denim jacket, a few inches taller but still slight of build. A full-grown Einstein was taking up residence on Marty’s shoes, and he was also looking at the scientist in confusion, his head cocked to the side.

Doc smiled suddenly, more direct than thoughtful. “Marty, when did you first meet Jennifer?”

“Uh. . . I don’t know _exactly_. I’ve known of her since junior high.” Marty shrugged, then cocked his head in a look similar to Einstein’s. “Or do you mean when was I first interested in her, or attracted to her?”

Doc waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes. When was that?”

“Oh.” Marty leaned back against the nearby counter, smirking. “That was in junior high, in foreign language appreciation class.”

“Foreign language _appreciation_?”

Marty nodded, understanding the scientist’s reaction. “Yeah, it was a class for the eighth graders, to introduce a bunch of different foreign languages and cultures to us, so we knew what language we might want to take in high school. It was mostly Spanish, German, and French. Kind of like to teach us that French was more than kissing, and Spanish was more than Mexican restaurants, and German was more than Volkswagens.” 

“Ah.” Emmett said, “I see. And you and Jennifer were in the class together?”

“Mm-hmm. There were a lot of girls in the class. I’d been noticing girls more, but I hadn’t dated much.” Marty’s face screwed up in a glower of self-reproach. “I was even shorter back then, ‘bout the same height as when you met me . . . and most of the girls didn’t think much of me. I was ‘cute’ and ‘funny,’ but not really dating material.” He shook off the scowl, then went on. “Well, after Christmas break we had the French section, and we did the King Cake. You know what that is?”

“It’s served sometime around the Christmas holiday, correct?”

The teen nodded again. “After Christmas. Early January, actually – um, Epiphany.” Marty grinned, happy that he’d remembered the name of the holy day, even though he’d only had the one experience with the French tradition (he’d chosen Spanish as his foreign language elective). “Anyway, there’s a little figurine hidden in the cake, and whoever finds it in their piece is crowned the king for the day, and then they pick someone to be their queen. Or vice versa – if the girl finds it, she picks a king.”

“Yes, yes, I believe I know the custom,” Doc said. “So who found the figurine? You, or Jennifer?”

Marty crossed his arms with a huff. “Let me tell the story, okay, Doc?”

Emmett fought to restrain a smile, but was only partially successful. “Of course. Please, go on.”

“Thank you,” Marty said archly, with a quick grin. He attempted to settle more comfortably against the counter, edging his feet away from Einstein’s heavy warmth. Sighing dramatically, the sheepdog eased off of Marty’s shoes, then wandered over to his water bowl. After quickly pushing aside a pile of blueprints, newspaper sections, and car magazines, Marty hopped up to perch on the edge of the counter.

Emmett glanced at the chairs near the table, then looked back to his friend – who was now eye-to-eye with him. Doc did manage to withhold a smile this time, as he knew Marty probably wouldn’t appreciate the scientist’s amusement at the young man’s current position, which was obviously more deliberate than impulsive.

If Marty sensed Emmett’s comprehension of his new sitting location, he didn’t remark upon it. Instead he continued with his story.

“Okay,” the teen said, resting his hands on the counter edge, “Jennifer found the baby Jesus figurine in her piece of cake. So the teacher, Mrs. Gillis, told her to pick one of the boys to be her ‘king’ for the day – “

“And she picked you.”

Marty glared at the older man again. “No, she _didn’t_ pick me, Doc, she picked Charlie Hixton.”

“Who?”

“Charlie Hixton. He was tall, and good-looking, and the MVP of the youth basketball team – one of those too-perfect guys, the kind all the girls are crazy for. You know?” Emmett nodded, although he did so slowly, perplexed by the unseen twist in Marty’s story. “So Mrs. Gillis gets these gift bags out with all these things in them – French candy, little souvenirs, and a paper crown and a plastic sash. Then she tells Jenn and Charlie that they need to wear the crown and sash for the rest of the day. Now Jennifer didn’t care, she thought it was kind of cool and funny, and she put her stuff on right away. But Charlie _did_ have a problem with it. He started complaining to his friends next to him, about how the things looked ridiculous, and how he had a reputation and he wasn’t going to wear that crap and get teased for the rest of the day, and so on.”

Marty had become animated now, gesturing along with his narration. “I was close enough to hear him bitching, and I got pretty ticked. Here Jennifer had picked this guy because she thought he was so great, and he was acting like an idiot, like he was too good for her. I was mumbling to myself and shooting Charlie dirty looks, enough so that he noticed, and he asked me what my problem was. Well, Charlie might’ve been almost perfect, but he wasn’t so good at understanding French. I was – I’ve got a good ear, and not only for music; I caught on to a lot of the phrases and words pretty quick. So when Charlie got on my case, I just looked at him and said, 'You're a 'king', all right - _un_ _roi des cons_.”

“A ‘king’ of idiots. Clever turn of phrase, Marty,” Doc congratulated the teen.

Marty beamed at the praise. “Yeah, Mrs. Gillis liked it, too, once she figured out what was going on. Then she took the gift bag away from Charlie – and gave it to me. Which didn’t really do me any favors – yeah, Jennifer and I got to stand together and get our picture taken for the yearbook, and a lot of the kids were impressed by my knowledge of French insults, but when Mrs. Gillis picked me to replace Charlie, it was like putting a big target on my back.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “This target on your back wouldn’t have had anything to do with your ‘insult knowledge,’ would it?” he asked dryly, familiar with the myriad of predicaments created by Marty’s wisecracks.

Marty flushed, and a hand crept up to gently touch the cut on his nose. “Ah – maybe. I guess it didn’t help. Either way, Charlie and a couple of his buddies were laying for me after school. It could’ve been bad – as it was, they tossed everything out of my backpack and cracked my skateboard – but Charlie only got a few hits in before a couple of other kids showed up and started hollering at them to leave me alone. And after Charlie and the guys ran off and I sorted myself out, Jennifer and one of her girlfriends were helping me up and picking up all my stuff.”

The teen shrugged, then looked down at his hands self-consciously. “It was pretty embarrassing. First I’m getting wailed on by a bunch of guys who are all bigger than me, and then I get saved by a couple of girls. Emasculating, you know? So I took off as soon as I was able. I think I said thanks, probably for them getting all my stuff together, but I didn’t want to thank them for saving me, because that would be admitting that I needed to be saved. But what was weird, was that Jennifer didn’t get offended or anything. I think she understood. At least, she never brought it up again. And what was even _more_ weird, to me, at least. . . I started noticing Jenn more, paying more attention to her than to what was going on in class – and once in a while I’d catch her looking at _me_ , too. When I did, she’d always blush and look away, or sometimes giggle with her friends. I asked her about it later, after we got together, and she said she’d had a crush on me, had since that day with the King Cake. That when she’d seen what a jerk Charlie was, and saw that I’d had the guts to call him on it – she'd been impressed by me. Me. This stupid, immature, hotheaded short kid with a smart mouth.”

Emmett shook his head in mild reproach, which was made even gentler by his sincere smile. “She saw you were more than that, as I did. Although you are quite hard on yourself – I’ve never thought of you as stupid.”

Marty tipped his head, squinting at the scientist. “What about the other things?”

Doc sucked in his cheeks, awkwardly patting his hands against his legs. “Ah. Well. Uh. . . Of course you were younger when you began working for me, and ‘immature’ _is_ a synonym for young. . . I do recall that you had been quick to anger, often displaying it through impertinent comments, but you have improved greatly on both fronts. . . And your height has increased since I first met you.”

For a moment Marty just kept staring at his friend. And then the teenager began to laugh so hard he had to fight to catch his breath. After a brief, startled silence, Emmett joined in, and their laughter rang loud and long. Einstein bounded over and began to bark, not wanting to be left out of the fun. 

Eventually the two gravitated back to the table – Emmett moving to sit down and Marty jumping off the counter – both needing a drink as the laughing had left their throats raw. Marty wiped a few tears from his eyes, grabbing his can and nearly emptying it in one long gulp. He then dropped into his chair and watched as Doc quaffed his own soda.

“Doc, was there a point to all of this?”

The older man stifled a belch, setting his now-empty can down. “A point.”

“Yeah! Why did you ask me this, how Jennifer and I met or whatever? Was there a point to it?”

“Oh, that! Well, of course, Marty. Haven’t you realized yet what I was trying to help you determine?”

Marty gazed blankly at the older man for a few moments, then an expression of clarity crossed his young features. “Prom!” he said. “How to ask Jenn to prom!” As quickly as his face had cleared, it again creased with confusion. “But – but what did _we_ determine?”

Emmett looked frankly at his friend. “When you met Jennifer – or became attracted to her – and later, when you began to date, were you in your band? Did you even have a guitar?”

“Yeah, I had my acoustic guitar, but I didn’t play it much,” Marty said. “I didn’t join the band until after I bought my Chiquita.”

“And when was that? At what point in your relationship with Jennifer?”

“Uh, it was in January, because I needed my Christmas money from my grandparents before I could afford it and the amp and everything. So Jenn and I would have been together maybe a month?” Marty shrugged. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just inferring that Jennifer did not become interested in you, or begin to start dating you, because she was enthralled by your music. She may support it now, and encourage that creative side of you, but that is not all you are, Marty. That is not the only reason she’s a part of your life.”

“So . . . don’t write her a song.” Marty said slowly.

Doc spread his hands out. “I think you can devise of a better way to ask her to prom, one that hearkens back to how you first became aware of each other.”

Marty studied the table top, then lifted his head and let his eyes drift around the room. He chewed at his lips, brow furrowed in concentration . . . and then he grinned.

“I know exactly what to do.”

* * *

**Friday, April 12th, 1985**

**12:28 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

In the end, it was far more subtle than performing an original song during Jennifer’s phy. ed. class, but no less complicated. There were trips to drug stores and dime stores and the party store in Twin Pines Mall (and an impromptu visit to a former teacher) before Marty could find the supplies necessary to the plan. There were lunch ladies to charm, friends to coordinate with, and a yearbook photographer to convince. That proved to be the most difficult part – Terri Yount, a senior and the main photographer for the yearbook, had been unimpressed with Marty's scheme. “I don’t care if the picture even makes it in the yearbook – I just need you to be there to take the picture!” Marty had pleaded.

“And I need someone to play guitar at my Grandma’s nursing home tomorrow,” Terri had answered with a shrug. “The regular entertainment cancelled, and those old folks would eat you up. They'd think you’re just the _cutest_ thing,” she’d said, reaching out to jiggle Marty’s chin.

He’d jerked away reflexively, but as soon as Terri’s face had clouded over, he’d relented. “Okay, fine, fine, I’ll do it,” he’d said. “Just, please, no Lawrence Welk crap, okay?”

“I can’t promise anything!” Terri had laughed, but she had also agreed to be at the appointed time and location with her 35 mm Minolta.

The only thing that might have tipped anyone off was Marty sneaking his backpack into the lunchroom. Backpacks weren’t typically allowed, but as many students brought their own lunches in paper bags or small coolers, he strolled into the cafeteria as if there was nothing more unusual in his backpack than a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and some carrot sticks. Isaac and Pete had already commandeered a table right next to where Jennifer and her girlfriends usually sat, and Marty seated himself far enough away to not be a distraction, but close enough so he was sure he could watch all of the pieces come together. He just hoped he wouldn’t lose his nerve when it was time to make his move.

Jennifer was chatting with her girlfriends as she made her way through the hot lunch line, as Marty had expected, and she wasn't aware of Paul Hardy crowding up in line behind her. As so, she failed to notice the lunch lady who winked at the bass player while presenting him with a specifically prepared tray of food. When Jennifer moved away from the serving dishes of food and turned to make her way to her usual table, Paul bumped into her expertly, knocking Jennifer’s lunch tray to the floor without dumping his own, and also without getting any of the food on Jennifer (which Marty had expressly demanded).

“Oh, crap, Jennifer, I’m sorry!” Paul cried, as the two looked at the dented milk carton, splattered tater tot casserole, scattered pineapple chunks, and smashed piece of cake. Several catcalls echoed in the lunchroom, and a harried-looking cafeteria aide approached with a broom and dustpan. “I wasn’t paying attention!”

Jennifer sighed, mustering up a smile. “It’s all right, Paul. I’ll just get back in line.”

“No, I will – here, take my tray.” He offered his meal to the young woman. “It’s all the same stuff, and they gave me a bigger piece of cake than you had.”

Jennifer hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. “I guess that’s okay,” she said, not exactly wanting to waste her lunch hour by standing in the line a second time. Taking the tray from Paul’s hands, she nodded her thanks, and then caught up with her girlfriends. Before getting back in the lunch line, Paul turned and flashed a thumbs-up in Marty’s direction.

Jennifer took her new tray to her table, joining her curious girlfriends. “What was that?” Marissa asked. “You dropped your tray? Not exactly cheerleader reflexes, there, Jenn.”

Jennifer wrinkled her nose at Marissa. “I didn’t drop it, Paul ran into me. But he gave me his tray, so I didn’t have to go through the line a second time.”

Joyce stared at Jennifer with wide eyes. “You just took his tray? Gross! He could have spit in the food or something!”

“That’s silly,” Jennifer said. “He was right next to me in line, he wouldn’t have had time to do something like that. And anyway, he’s Marty’s best friend. I can trust him.” She opened her milk carton, taking a purposeful drink and staring hard at Joyce. “Fine, Jennifer,” the other girl muttered, turning back to her own lunch.

Marty watched closely as Jennifer proceeded eating her lunch, finishing most of the casserole and chewing slowly on her pineapple. “Hurry up,” he murmured, sliding down on the bench, his backpack between his feet. He glanced around for Strickland, saw him striding toward the bathrooms, and sighed impatiently.

Jennifer had moved on to her cake, and she scooped some of the frosting off with her fork, talking to her friends at the same time. None of them noticed Marty’s nearness. “Oh, look, Terri Yount’s got her camera,” Marissa said, pointing. “She must be taking candids for the yearbook.”

“Who wants to get their picture taken with food in their mouth?” Joyce asked, not unreasonably. Jennifer laughed in agreement, then cut into her cake with her fork – and hit something hard.

“What in the – “ Jennifer sat back, staring at the dessert. Both Joyce and Marissa leaned forward. “I _told_ you!” Joyce hissed. “That jerk put something in your cake! Throw it away! No – tell Strickland!”

“No, wait.“ Jennifer suddenly attacked her cake with her hands, breaking it into pieces and revealing the small plastic figurine of a woman in a pink dress. She held it in her palm, gazing at it rapturously, as Joyce sat in stunned silence. Marissa looked between the two girls. “What – what is that?” she asked either or both of her friends.

“It’s a King Cake figurine,” Jennifer said quietly. “Or, I think it’s supposed to be. But this looks more like a woman in a bridesmaid dress, or a – “

“Or a prom dress.”

Jennifer whirled at Marty’s voice. He was standing at the edge of her table, his hands clenching the straps of his backpack. “Yeah, it is a bridesmaid figurine, and I had to buy a pack of eight to get it, but let’s just say it’s girl in a prom dress, okay?” he said, half-smiling.

“Marty – how did – my God, I can’t believe this!” Jennifer grabbed Marty’s hand and pulled him down next to her. “I can’t believe you did this!” she repeated.

Marty shrugged nonchalantly. “I had some help.” He jerked his head back at his bandmates, who were hooting and jeering, and then focused again on Jennifer. “You know what happens when you find the King Cake figurine. You’re queen for the day.” Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a paper crown and a sash that read “Queen,” and held them out to Jennifer. “Also, you need to pick a king.”

Jennifer laughed, putting on the sash and letting Marty place the crown on her head. “Oh, let me think!” she said next, touching a finger to her lips. “Do you know where I could find Charlie Hixton?”

Joyce gasped, but Marissa began to laugh along with Jennifer, and she nudged the other girl. “It’s a joke, Joyce! Relax!”

“I pick you,” Jennifer said, quickly kissing Marty on the cheek – the students were always conscious of Strickland’s patrols, and so refrained from overt physical displays of affection.

“Well, then it’s a good thing I have these,” Marty replied, pulling another crown and sash from his backpack. He pulled on the sash that read “King,” and was about to put on the crown when Jennifer stopped him. “Wait just a minute. I’m the Queen – I think it’s my job to put the crown on the King I choose.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty.” Marty dipped his head in remorse. “Forgive me?”

“Oh, knock it off,” Jennifer said with a soft smile. “Like you could make this any cornier.” Lifting the crown, she settled it on Marty’s head at the same time that a camera flash went off. “Your Highnesses! Over here!” Terri Yount called, snapping a few more pictures.

“You didn’t think I could make it more corny?” Marty said wryly, as Jennifer blushed in mortification at the small crowd that appeared, drawn by Terri’s shouts. “I figured we got a picture the first time, so. . . “

Jennifer lowered her head against Marty’s chest. “This is so embarrassing,” she mumbled, then looked up to lock her eyes onto those of her boyfriend. “And I love it.”

Marty grinned back, then sobered, taking a deep breath. “I have a question to ask you. There’s this royal ball coming up – I think the commoners call it ‘prom.’” His next words came out hastily and breathlessly. “Would you do me the honor of attending the dance with me?”

Jennifer blinked her suddenly blurry eyes. “Oh, Marty.” She leaned forward to kiss Marty on the lips – Strickland be damned. When they parted, Jennifer wiped at her eyes, smiling through her happy tears.

“Of course I’ll go to prom with you – like you had to ask?”

_**END** _

**Author's Note:**

> 1) When Emmett remembers Marty's first visit to his garage (just a reminder, this is Twin Pines timeline), his recollection is from my story, ["Time Will Tell."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283180/chapters/58529962)
> 
> 2) BTTF fans will recognize that Isaac's statement about Jorie being "kind of cute and all" is a nod to Lorraine's description of George in the first movie. Even the girl's name, Jorie Flynn, is supposed to be a female version of "George McFly." Although, Isaac does not decide to go to the dance with Jorie; he stays with Sherri and eventually marries her, as I mention in my story ["Missing Time,"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292935/chapters/61323652) (which takes place in the Lone Pine timeline). 
> 
> Confused yet?


End file.
